


You Know How I Get (When I'm Alone)

by lokit5083



Series: Sit Back, Relax, Relapse [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, M/M, Relapse, and courf has almost one line but ferre makes a comeback in the last chapter, but he doesnt know how to handle them hes not good at emotional shit, e's anger directly contradicts his worry and i think thats cool, enjolras doesnt know how to handle a relapse, he knows the fact about relapses, most relationships are only referenced, suicidal implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7959280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokit5083/pseuds/lokit5083
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire was sober, then he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

> I am 100% aware some things I say at the end directly contradict with what is said at the beginning, but I think that's kinda cool. It shows how our thoughts and feelings change as we cycle through emotions.  
> For "the time they all almost died", see wandasmaximoffs' works "I Do It All ( Because I Love You. )" and "May Your Past Be the Sound ( of Your Feet Upon the Ground. )"

     Enjolras could not find Grantaire.

     Maybe that was overreacting, but the fact remained that upon opening the door to the apartment he shared with the other, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, Grantaire wasn’t there. It wasn't like Enjolras expected Grantaire to tell him every time he left the house, but when both Combeferre and Courfeyrac answered his casual inquiry as to where the missing housemate was with uncertainty, he couldn't smother a spark of worry.

     The apartment was searched, despite the other pair’s insistence that they could be trusted. It was a futile search, of course, one that only managed to increase Enjolras’ worry with each empty room, but he had to make sure.

     A text was sent to the missing man. (“Oh my _God_ , En. He’s not _dead_ ,” said Combeferre. He was ignored.) Enjolras waited a few minutes, but Grantaire didn't reply. Maybe Enjolras was still on edge from the time they all almost died, but the lack of a reply made him more nervous than it probably should have.

     Ferre was right, though. He wasn't dead. He could be confident enough in that fact. Probably. Enjolras just had to find him

     He sighed, turning quickly and leaving the apartment. He hoped, he _prayed_ , that he wasn't at a bar, so he wouldn't check there, not yet. He had faith in his Grantaire. He walked down the hallway, sending out a text to Cosette, Éponine, and Musichetta. If he was being honest, he trusted the girls more than anyone else to not yell at him for being dramatic. Especially Cosette, when it came to Grantaire.

     He walked to Grantaire’s studio. When he wasn’t at home, Grantaire spend most of his time there. It was dark, and each step brought frustration to join the anxiety. No, Grantaire didn't have to let Enjolras know every time he was stepping foot from the apartment, and he was probably just painting, getting lost in it or some shit, but everyone knew Enjolras had been more on edge lately, and Grantaire probably knew that better than any of the others. The least he could do was check his phone.

     Which, almost to unconsciously prove a point, Enjolras did, then, to find three negative texts from three separate people, which didn't help him, either.

     He huffed, putting his phone in his pocket as he completed the last minutes of the walk.

     He entered the building in which Grantaire had rented a room to use as a studio. It wasn’t the best building, but it wasn’t rundown. It did what it had to, and it made Grantaire happy. It gave him a place to go when things got rough, which, right now, was what worried Enjolras the most.

     “Grantaire?” he asked, knocking on the door to the studio.

     No answer.

     But when he wiggled the doorknob, he found it was locked. That was a good sign. That meant Grantaire was there. Whether he was painting, drinking, or—well, whatever he was doing, he was there.

     Enjolras exhaled a soft swear as he dug his keys from his pocket. He still didn't know how he managed to convince Grantaire to give him a key to his studio, which Enjolras barely used out of respect to the other’s space, but he was grateful now.

     “Grantaire--” he began as he opened the door, but he was cut off by what he saw. The other man sat against the opposite wall, head leaned back to look at the ceiling, bottle in hand. _God_ , he’d been drinking. A lot. Enjolras could see it in his face, even if it was tilted away from him. _Christ_. He’d been doing so well, and now— _fuck_.

     “Grantaire.” Enjolras repeated, closing the door behind him as he stepped over, crouching in front of him. Enjolras didn't know what he was feeling. There was worry, disappointment, fear, _anger_ , but right now he had to do damage control.

     “Hey, Apollo,” Grantaire said, eyes dropping to meet the other’s. He looked like he’d only just noticed Enjolras. His eyes were glazed, but _God_ , were they sad. They were too sad for this man, so gentle and kind, so warm and passionate. Enjolras felt a pang of guilt. He should have been there to help. He could have helped.

     “What happened, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, his own eyes filled with worry. He knew Grantaire better than to assume he’d started drinking again over something stupid.

     “You know me, Apollo,” replied Grantaire, raising the bottle to his lips for another swallow of whatever poison was inside, “I’m a fuck up. I mean, you can't tell me this is a surprise to you. That you weren't waiting for this.”

     “No, Grantaire. No, you’re—” he cuts himself off, running his hands over his face. Hadn’t he been waiting for this? No, no, he—no! He trusted Grantaire. He believed in him, and he had faith in him. He still did. He wasn't surprised, no, because he knew how relapses worked, but he hadn’t been waiting for this. He had been prepared, but not expecting. “ _Shit_.”

     The other took another swallow from the bottle. “Some things just don't change.”

     Enjolras sighed. Not _at_ Grantaire, but _for_ him. His sadness was almost tangible, and it made Enjolras’ heart ache. He dropped to his knees, watching the other for a moment before raising his hands to rest on his neck. “You’re not a fuck up, Grantaire,” he said, “I should have been there with you. But you—it’s okay.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Grantaire’s forehead. _Christ_ , would he be mad later, but not now. Not now. “It’s okay.”

     Evidently, it wasn’t.

     At the leader’s words, the cynic’s eyes filled with tears, and with the soft kiss pressed to his forehead (far softer than deserved, in his opinion), he couldn't hold back a sob. He fell forward to his knees, arms wrapping around the other, faced buried in his shoulder. He held onto the blonde like an anchor, clinging tightly, as though if he let go he would fall, crashing further into darkness.

     “God, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, arms wrapping tightly around the other, one hand in his hair, the other stroking his back. He didn't know what else to say. What could he say that wouldn't make Grantaire feel worse? “I love you,” he said after a moment, pressing a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s head.

     The other shook his head, clinging closer to his Apollo. That seemed to only make Grantaire feel worse. He didn't think he deserved to be loved.

     Even if Enjolras disagreed with Grantaire’s self-hatred, he wouldn't say anything else. The last thing he wanted to do was make him feel worse. So instead he simply sat, arms tight around Grantaire.

     After a time passed, Enjolras removed a hand, digging in his pocket for his phone. He didn't want to let go, but he had to make sure he would have a support team. And that everyone knew Grantaire was found.

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          Found. Alive. Problem. More later.

 

     He dropped the phone, then, not bothering to take the time to return it to his pocket. He would rather have the extra seconds with his arm back around Grantaire. He knew Cosette would pass along that he has found the other, but not that there was a problem.

 

     More time passed. Enjolras wasn't sure how long, and he didn't dare check. He didn't want to move. He was here for Grantaire, whether it was five minutes or five hours.

     Eventually Grantaire pulled away, sniffling and wiping his eyes. He looked terrible. Not physically, though he didn't look good in that aspect at the moment, either, but he looked even worse, emotionally. Everything he’d been burying before had come to the surface, now. He wasn't hiding his suffering anymore, but it was a new stab to Enjolras’ heart.

     He put his hands on Grantaire’s neck again, moving in to kiss him softly. “Let’s go home, okay?”

     Grantaire sighed, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall again.

     “Come on, Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed. He picked up his phone to check the time. An hour and a half had passed. “You need sleep.”

     “Fuck off,” replied the other, bringing a sigh from Enjolras. Grantaire reached for the bottle, but he found it was empty. He threw it across the room.

     Enjolras looked at Grantaire for a moment before huffing as he pocketed his phone again, before bending down and wrapping an arm around the other’s waist and moving one of Grantaire’s arms around Enjolras’ shoulders. He stood, then, with a grunt, pulling Grantaire up with him.

     “You're an asshole, Apollo,” Grantaire complained, pulling himself away from Enjolras. If Enjolras weren't so worried, he would have smiled that self-satisfied smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mouth closed again. _I'm not the asshole here._ But no, not today. No anger today. Not only did he not want to waste time yelling at a drunk Grantaire, but his guilt was outweighing his anger. Instead, he watched the other for a moment with a clenched jaw. It was his turn to bury his feelings.

     "Let's go," Enjolras sighed once the surge of anger subsided, voice soft. He held out a hand to the other, his gentle eyes meeting Grantaire's, tired and sad. The offered hand was considered for a moment before being silently rejected as Grantaire put his hands in his pockets. Enjolras wasn't surprised, really, but it didn't stop the pang of sadness. The frustration.

     He gave Grantaire a flash of a reassuring smile before stepping forward to open the door, waiting for Grantaire on the other side before closing and locking the door behind them.

     “Come on.”

     With that, Enjolras started down the hall, stopping after a few steps to make sure Grantaire was following. Satisfied to see the man close behind, Enjolras continued. He led the other from the building to the sidewalk outside.

     Now that they were out of the more cramped hallways of the building, Enjolras walked beside Grantaire instead of in front of him. He watched Grantaire in the yellow light of the street lamps with a mixture of anger, sympathy, and pity. Grantaire looked at the sidewalk beneath their feet, and Enjolras thought that was probably for the best. Grantaire hated pity.

     He looked awful. Sobriety had taken away his usual drunken appearance, making it appear that much worse now that he was drunk again. His eyes, so full of sadness, were bloodshot again, and his skin was pallid, even without the added light. He didn't know how much of it was the alcohol and how much was the shame.

     After a couple of blocks, Grantaire took Enjolras’ hand.

     The walk was silent except for the sounds of cars and footsteps, seemingly louder in this darkness than they would be during the day. Enjolras spent most of the time silently watching Grantaire, mostly only looking away to make sure the other wouldn't walk into traffic. He knew Grantaire was careless on a _good_ day.

     They reached the apartment building, and Enjolras sighed, looking to Grantaire. He didn't seem overly eager to return to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and Enjolras figured that was justified. The odds were in favor of one of them making a comment of some sort. But they couldn't stay outside.

     Enjolras opened the door.

 

     The short walk to the apartment was as quiet as the walk to the complex. Enjolras was able to get a better look at Grantaire in the different light. He looked better without the yellow tint, but it left his skin even paler. In the silence, bitter disappointment began to creep into Enjolras’ sadness. He pushed it down. What good would it do to say anything to Grantaire when he wouldn’t remember it in the morning? He doubted it would do anything _anyway_ , even if Grantaire were sober, but he knew it would _really_ be a waste of anger to say anything now.

     Outside of the door, Enjolras let out a huff as he grabbed his key from his pocket. With any luck, Courfeyrac and Combeferre would be asleep, and there would be nothing said. Even if they weren't, maybe they’d still be silent. It wasn’t likely.

     In fact, when Enjolras opened the door, the pair was still awake. Each looked to the entering couple, and a moment passed before, unknowingly proving Enjolras’ point, Courfeyrac opened his mouth. He didn’t get the chance to say anything, though, because Enjolras glared at him, a hard glare usually saved only for those truly annoying him. Usually for Grantaire. He hadn’t the patience for his _shit_ , right now.

     Silently, Enjolras led Grantaire into the apartment and to their bedroom. ( _Their_ bedroom. That was always a nice thought.) He turned the light on and closed the door behind them. This was a time just for them, now.

     “Grantaire,” Enjolras began after a second, turning to face the other, but he was cut off by a sigh.

     “Stop it, Apollo,” Grantaire replied, stepping away and shrugging off his jacket, “I know what you’re going to say, and I don't want you to say it.”

     That got a sigh from Enjolras, but, in a rare occurrence that would definitely have earned a comment had Grantaire been feeling better, he stayed silent as asked. He had been going to apologize. Again. Even though Grantaire insisted he did nothing wrong, Enjolras still felt a heavy weight of guilt in his heart. He still felt like if he had been there, he could have stopped Grantaire from drinking. From throwing away all the progress he’d made. And for what? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. Maybe Grantaire didn’t even know. It could have been one thing of many, or a combination thereof. Nothing either of them could control, but Enjolras still felt like, had he been there, he could have at least stopped Grantaire from going down the wrong path.

     But he said none of this. Instead, silently, eyes on Grantaire, he got ready for bed. Grantaire needed rest, and Enjolras wasn’t going to leave him again. Besides, the commotion of the evening had left him weary as well.

     The light was turned off and they got into bed; Grantaire curled up small and Enjolras facing him. He inched closer to press a soft kiss to the other’s head. “I love you, Grantaire.”

     Grantaire, seemingly already half asleep, gave a soft smile, his eyes closed. “I dunno, Enjolras, that's kinda gay.”

     “Just go to _sleep_ ,” Enjolras replied, voice losing the softer edge. It was all he could do to keep himself from making some kind of comment. That would just get Grantaire going, and he wanted him to rest.

     Grantaire grunted, but he didn’t argue. Enjolras moved closer, wrapping himself around the other, and he stayed like that until he was sure Grantaire was asleep. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulled away.

     He sat up, grabbing his phone from where it lay on the nightstand. He wasn't fit to handle this situation. He already knew that from the anger bubbling in his chest. He knew he was better off texting Combeferre or Joly, one of the medical students in the group, but Combeferre was, literally, too close, and Joly wouldn’t make it without telling Bossuet and Musichetta. Enjolras wanted to keep this to as few people as possible, for Grantaire’s sake. He knew the only one he would trust with Grantaire as much as himself was Cosette. She helped him in the same way Éponine did Enjolras when she was asked by the others to use her more forceful personality to bring him to his senses. Cosette was gentle, and Grantaire loved her. She was brought in when Enjolras’ harder personality couldn’t handle Grantaire’s softer, more vulnerable side alone when there was a problem. Which was usually.

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          He got drunk.

 

     He didn't have to wait long. Within a minute, Cosette replied.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

          Do you need me to come over?

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          No. He’s sleeping.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

          Is he okay?

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          Doubtful.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

Do you know what set him off?

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          No.

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          Maybe he got bored.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

          That's not fair, Enjolras.

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

You know how hard he’s been trying, and he’s been doing it for you. If he’s drinking again, it’s because something upset him. Badly.

 

     Enjolras read the text. Once. Twice. Guilt burned within him. He should have been there. But if it had really bothered him, he could have called Enjolras. He could have done something. He should have done something.

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          Why didn’t he do anything to help himself?

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

You know him, Enjolras. He’s too proud.

 

     Enjolras didn't reply, leaning his head against the wall, his eyes closing with a sigh. After a minute, his phone buzzed.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

Are you okay?

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          I think it’s my fault.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

          It’s not.

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

I should have been there.

 

     **TEXT: **EN ❤⚡****

          You can't always be there, En. He has to be able to take care of himself. He’s not weak. He doesn't need you to babysit him. He doesn't want you to.  And you need to be able to trust him. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s a person, not another project.

 

     He didn’t reply right away, taking a moment to think over what Cosette said. She was right. He had to trust Grantaire. He did trust Grantaire. And he’d broken sobriety. He hadn’t even tried.

 

     **TEXT: COSETTE**

          Goodnight, Cosette.

 

     **TEXT:**   **EN ❤⚡**

          Goodnight, Enjolras.

 

     He didn’t sleep.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliché chapter title  
> Apparently this is a series now  
> 

**TEXT: EN** **❤** **⚡**

 I'm coming over.

 

     Enjolras was roused from the half-sleep he had fallen into by the soft vibration of his phone against him. He read the text, still in a sort of a daze, before the memories of the previous night returned. He read the text again, jaw clenching as he was hit with a wave of anger, concern, and guilt. He looked at Grantaire, still sleeping beside him, and he sighed. He looked peaceful. It hurt Enjolras to think how quickly that would dissolve after he woke up.

     He thought to reply to Cosette, to tell her to stay where she was, but he knew it was useless. If Cosette said she was coming over, she was coming over. Besides, she had a key, so if she really was set on coming over, he couldn't stop her. Grantaire would like to have her here, anyway, he was sure. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were probably going to give them their space, and Enjolras wasn’t sure he would be able to be sympathetic enough for Grantaire. And he didn't even know if Grantaire would talk to him, anyway. At least he’d have some company.

     But it was _good_ , he thought, that Cosette was coming. He didn't want to have to deal with a hungover Grantaire. He knew it was selfish, but he just didn't want to be with Grantaire right now. Enjolras was too angry. A night of sitting awake hadn’t helped rid him of his irrational anger. He wanted to be alone.

 

     He sat there, watching the wall blankly until he heard the door open. Judging by the silence it was met with, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were still asleep. _Good_. He heard footsteps make their way down the hall to where Enjolras and Grantaire’s bedroom was. Without a pause to even knock, Cosette opened the door, meeting Enjolras’ eyes with a glare.

     “You’re an asshole,” she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. Enjolras was grateful she probably didn’t want to wake Grantaire, as he knew that was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

     “Morning, Cosette,” replied Enjolras, sighing softly.

     “Don’t “morning, Cosette” me, Enjolras,” she hissed as she stepped closer. “Move.”

     Eyes steady on hers, gaze cold, Enjolras crossed his legs to make space for Cosette. She sat close, pulling her legs onto the bed so she could face him. She was still glaring, but she turned her eyes to Grantaire, and her expression softened.

     “How is he?” she asked, leaning forward and reaching out to gently pet Grantaire’s hair.

     Enjolras’ eyes dropped to the man beside him, expression a mixture of both anger, pity, and something softer. Love. He still loved his Grantaire. Even if that made his disgust that much harder to stomach. He reached out, after a moment of hesitation, to join Cosette in gently stroking the mass of black curls. He was angry, and he was sure it would be nearly impossible to stay in the same room as Grantaire once he woke up, but for now Enjolras allowed himself to comfort him, even if he was still sleeping. Only since he was still sleeping.

     “He’s been sleeping, so that’s good, I guess.”

     “Is it? I would have figured you’ve been waiting all night to lecture him.”

     Enjolras raised his eyes to Cosette, glaring. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a soft groaning coming from the man next to him. Enjolras quickly pulled his hand away, not in the mood to show affection to a _conscious_ Grantaire, but Cosette smiled, her hand still stroking Grantaire’s hair.

     “Morning, Gran,” she said softly, sending a look at Enjolras, obviously meant to worsen his guilt. It worked.

     Another groan came from Grantaire, and Enjolras clenched his jaw as, again, in the constant war between anger and guilt that took place in his head, anger spiked. He wouldn’t have been hungover if he hadn’t _fucked up_.

     “’Sette?” Grantaire asked, voice heavy with sleep and alcohol. “Fuck, turn down the sun,” he complained, turning his head and burying his head into the pillow.

     That only served to anger Enjolras more. With a quick movement, he removed the covers from his legs and got out of bed. Before he could take more than a step, though, Cosette reached out and grabbed his wrist, looking up at him with that glare that was coming more familiar than he liked.

     “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, the hard edge returning to her voice.

     “Somewhere else,” he replied, voice tense and jaw set.  
     “No, you’re staying right here.”  
     They were interrupted by a groan, drawing their attention to Grantaire. “Stop talking so loud,” he said into the pillow. (They weren’t bothering him. He just didn’t want to hear what Enjolras would say.)

     “Sorry, sweetie,” Cosette said. Then she stood. “Enjolras and I are going to be just outside.”

     “Love you, biscuit,” replied Grantaire, voice muffled from the pillow.

     “Love you, too,” she responded as she turned and dragged Enjolras from the room.

     Once out, Cosette closed the door behind them and let go of Enjolras’ wrist, but she glared at him again with a force stronger than ever.

     “You know; you’re going to have to make up your mind whether you're angry or guilty. You can't fuck with him and do both.”

     Enjolras said nothing, so Cosette continued.

     “If you're mad, stay away from him and get over yourself, but if you're guilty you need to go in there and take care of him. This isn't about you, Enjolras. Something upset him very badly, and you should be helping.”

     “I tried helping. It didn’t work,” Enjolras replied, jaw clenched. As angry as he felt, he didn't _want_ to lash out.

     “It didn't help? Why do you think he was sober in the first place? He didn't do it for _fun_.”

     “He _was_ sober, and then he threw it away.”

     “One bad day doesn't negate all of the hard work he put in. The only thing thrown away was your act of pretending you were capable of being understanding.”

     “I am perfectly capable—” Enjolras began, anger finally seeping out from where he had it locked away. Before he could finish his sentence, though, he was cut off.

     “You spend all your time fighting for people and saying you're one of them, but the second something goes bad, you pull this high and mighty shit. Grantaire _loves_ you, Enjolras. You’re his entire world. You have to grow up.”

     “ _I_ have to grow up? It's not like someone put a gun to his head and forced him to drink. Even if they did, it’s not like he’d put up much of a fight.”

     “ _Stop_. Someone did put a gun to him, remember? After he came to you from where he was safe? Do you remember that? Do you remember how he basically let everyone know he’d rather die with you than live without you?”

     That set something off within Enjolras, and he glared at Cosette. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think that isn't in my head from the second I wake up to the second I go to bed? But I haven't started drinking. I haven't decided to waste my life drowning my sorrows in some toxic shit.”

     “But this isn't about you, asshole. You don't drink. Great. And Grantaire did. But then he almost died, and he decided to stop. Then something happened. I don't know what, but I do know it was bad. He said he would stop, and he was doing well. He was happy because you were happy. Do you really think he would break sobriety over something stupid when he knew how you would react?”

     She gave him no time to reply before continuing. But this time, her voice was softer, her eyes sadder. “You're gonna break his heart, Enj.”

     Enjolras remained silent for a moment, thinking over her words, turning them over and over in his head. He didn't _want_ to hurt Grantaire, he really didn't. He certainly hadn't stopped loving him. But he’d hurt Enjolras, now. Hadn't he? _This isn't about you, asshole._ But he was angry. Enjolras was still angry. He’d put time and effort into helping Grantaire, and in a second he’d wasted it. There were a thousand ways he could have helped himself without resorting to drinking.

     “If he didn't want to be hurt,” Enjolras said, voice slow but angry, “he shouldn't have gotten drunk.”

     That reignited Cosette’s anger. “If he didn't want to be hurt, he shouldn't have started dating you. Don't you dare say anything to him until you’ve cooled down. You've done enough damage.”

     “You can't tell me what to do. Maybe that works for Marius, but not me.” With each word, his anger grew. He stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Cosette’s chest. “ _You_ cannot control me.”

     “I can do whatever the hell I want, asshole,” she replied, anger rising to match his. “I don’t know why you have to bring Marius into this. I’ve seen you do a lot more bad than him. If you need an example, just take a look at your current position. And, just so you know, if I ever made a mistake like Grantaire made, he would be by my side and help me through it. And he’d do it because he wanted to, not because I _control_ him. If you think we’re happy because I tell him to be, you need to fix your mindset before you go anywhere near Grantaire again. And second, you don’t need to take that tone with me. I’m just trying to help you. But, hey, if you’d rather destroy your boyfriend’s heart, go on ahead. I never did see why he loved you, anyway.”

     “He fucked up,” Enjolras began through clenched teeth, “I am angry. I am disappointed. These are natural feelings, aren’t they? Am I not allowed to feel without you deciding I’m planning on ripping his heart from his chest?”

     Cosette looked at him for a moment, her head shaking in disappointment. “I can’t hold something against you, but you can hold something against him? He had one bad night, and you’ve already decided he’s giving up completely. He never wanted to hurt you. You spend your days fighting for justice, but now you’re not being fair. But do you know something, Enjolras? I can promise you he’s in there feeling awful. And you know what else? If you keep acting like this, he _is_ going to get worse. You’re being _selfish_. You’re so determined to see yourself above everyone that you’re going to drive him down the same path you’ve been trying so hard to keep him from. You’re creating your own self-fulfilling prophecy, and it’s going to end with you and Grantaire more distant than ever. Things will be worse than they were at the beginning.  And for the record, you already _have_ ripped his heart from his chest. _Please_ , Enjolras,” she sighed, “please don’t hurt him anymore. He needs you. You need to _talk_ to him.”

     “I’m not holding anything against him,” Enjolras said, much to Cosette’s dismay, “I’m only stating the facts. I’m not _selfish_. I’ve given all my time to him, you, everyone else, and all the things we do—”

     Cosette cut him off. “Wow, you’re just a saint, aren’t you? Giving your precious time to us little urchins—”

     “That’s not what I meant,” Enjolras said, but Cosette continued.  
     “You know, if it’s such a burden to you to be with us, why do you even bother? Break up with Grantaire and leave. Go be mayor of some shitty town somewhere far away where you don’t have to be with us. After all, we’ve only been your constant friends through all the riots and problems. Most of us almost gave you our lives, too, but hey, who cares, right? Forget us. Forget Grantaire, who worships the ground you walk on. Who has worshipped you since the day you met. Who looks at you like you’re the fucking sun. Don’t let him take up any more of your time. You’re only the first person who’s truly made him happy. Why should that matter?”

     Enjolras didn’t reply right away. Instead, he thought. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to lose his friends. He didn’t want to lose Grantaire. He never wanted to lose Grantaire. He’d never loved anyone before, and despite their multiple differences, he didn’t want to love anyone else. Almost losing him made that clear to him. He wasn’t going to leave. He—he was just angry! He’d been disappointed. He wasn’t the first one to be disappointed by their partner, and he wouldn’t be the last. But Marius would help Cosette, and she him. Combeferre would help Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac would help Combeferre. Hell, Grantaire would help Enjolras--

     “I need some air,” he said finally. He had to get out of the hallway, out of the god damn apartment with its walls closing in around him. Cosette scoffed and rolled her eyes, but he ignored her. He needed to think, and he didn’t want to fight anymore. ~~He never did like fighting a losing battle.~~ He needed to get out. He reached out to the doorknob, but his hand was caught by Cosette’s, and he raised his eyes to meet hers. “May I _change_?” he asked, his voice harsh. The idea of leaving the house in his pajamas was incredibly unappealing to him, and, as much as he hated the idea of facing Grantaire, his clothes were in the bedroom.

     Cosette held his gaze for a moment before sighing and letting go. She didn't want him to bother Grantaire, but she knew Enjolras leaving was probably for the best.

     Enjolras rested his hand on the doorknob for a moment’s hesitation before turning it. He opened the door and stepped into the room, Cosette close behind him. He felt another surge of anger at her following him. Surely he could be _trusted_ to get dressed without _attacking_ Grantaire? Apparently not.

     He tried not to let himself look at Grantaire as he entered the room, but he failed. The other was lying on his back, eyes blank and sad as they stared at the ceiling. Enjolras didn’t like the look on his face. It was one he always helped with. One that made him want to go to the other and kiss away his sadness and hold him until he was happy again. He should be going out with him. He should be taking him out to get some air and to clear his head, but the idea of being near him sent a bad feeling through Enjolras. He didn’t want to smell the alcohol on his breath or see the betrayal in his eyes. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away, focusing more than needed on the drawers as he grabbed clothes.

     He glanced to Cosette, silently questioning whether she was going to leave while he changed, but the stern look on her face answered him clearly. So, with a sigh, he turned back to the wall, glaring at it as he began to change.

     After a moment, as Enjolras pulled on a fresh shirt, a voice, soft and sad, came from behind him.

     “Hey, Apollo.”

     Enjolras froze, taking a deep breath before replying, his tone cold. “Good morning, Grantaire.”

     He heard a soft sigh come from the other, which only made him dress faster. Then, without looking at either Cosette or Grantaire, he left the room.

 

     A moment later, the whole floor heard the apartment’s front door slam.


	3. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is sad.  
> A short peek into what happens in the apartment after Enjolras storms out.

    The door slammed, and Grantaire winced. A heartbeat passed before he slowly sat and looked at Cosette. The look in his eyes broke Cosette’s heart.

     “Oh, Gran,” she said, voice now lacking anger completely. She quickly made her way to the bed, getting in and wrapping her arms around Grantaire.

     He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, his gaze sad and blank. After a moment of this unresponsiveness, Cosette pulled away, sighing softly. She would obviously have to try a different approach. She reached up to place her hands on Grantaire’s cheeks, turning his head to face her. He looked like he’d lost his entire world, which he had. What could she say to him?

     “He’s an asshole, Gran,” she said after a moment, voice soft, thumb gently brushing against one of his cheeks. It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do.

     Much to her dismay, Grantaire shook his head. “I’m the asshole, ‘Sette. I had _one_ job, and I couldn’t even do that right. I’m a _fuck-up_. I can’t really blame him for hating me.”

     Cosette shook her head, her expression sad, even though, mentally, she was planning how she was going to kill Enjolras. “No,” she began, voice firm yet not unkind, “okay, _one_ , you made a _mistake_ , Grantaire. That doesn’t make you an asshole _or_ a fuck-up. _Two_ , you made a mistake, one small mistake, and he blew it _way_ out of proportion. That’s not your fault. He’s the one who decided to pull his high and mighty shit at the worst possible moment. _Three_ , as unbelievable as it seems, he doesn’t hate you. For one thing, he wouldn’t be so upset if he hated you, but for another, I saw how he looked at you when you were sleeping. The boy is still crazy about you, Grantaire. He’s just—he was caught off guard, and he’s disappointed. He doesn’t understand what happened—”

     “I _fucked up_ ,” Grantaire cut her off, earning himself a gentle glare.

     “But _I_ do,” Cosette continued, “I don’t know what upset you, and you don’t have to tell me, but I know something did. I know you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t have a reason. As much as you pretend not to, I know you care. You were doing well, and I was proud, and he was proud, and I know _you_ were proud, too. You wanted to succeed. And you still will. One bad day doesn’t mean a bad life.”

     “Evidence proves otherwise,” he replied, voice flat.

     “Fine, okay, but one bad _beginning_ doesn’t ensure a bad _end_.”

     Grantaire groaned, turning his head from Cosette’s grasp, pulling his knees up and resting his forehead against them. “I need a _drink_.”

     That made Cosette’s expression fall completely, and she was glad Grantaire couldn’t see. He wouldn’t like how sad it made her. “Gran…” she began, but she drifted off.

     “Well, it’s not like I can go to _Enjolras_. Our dear Apollo has decided to remove himself from the presence of such lowly mortal scum,” his tone was harsh and pained, which only made Cosette feel worse. “What would he even say? ‘You did this to yourself, you worthless waste of space. Your human qualities of weakness disgust me.’ About right, don’t you think?” he asked, looking up to Cosette.

     “No, Grantaire…” she said, moving closer and putting an arm around his shoulders, “well maybe, if you went to him now, but just give him time, and he’ll see clearly again. He _loves you_ , Grantaire, I know he does. He’s upset, yes, but he doesn’t think about you like that. He could go on about you for hours, all smiles and happiness, about how much good he sees in you. He’ll get this really dopy smile on his face, too. It’s actually really cute. I mean, he’s a complete asshole who I would really like to beat up right now, but when he’s in a good mood, it’s really easy to see how much he loves you.”

     “Great,” Grantaire began, resting his head against his knees again, “so the love of my life, who also, apparently, is very much in love with me and talks about me like I'm actually a good person, is currently incredibly angry and disappointed, and is probably feeling guilty like this is somehow his doing, because he’s an idiot, and it's all my fault. Awesome. Nice pep talk.”

     “That is _not_ what I meant. I meant he loves you, Grantaire, just like you love him, and even though he's being a total dick right now, he's gonna calm down, and you’ll be able to talk about this.”

     Grantaire groaned. “Enjolras doesn't talk. He _lectures_. The only talking that will be done will be him telling me about how utterly disappointed he is and how it seems some people can never change. He’s probably out writing his speech now. He probably has bullet points about how awful I am.”

     “Stop that, Gran. You’re not awful. But, if he does that, I will punch him. Then he won’t be able to talk, and you will.”

     “Thanks, biscuit.”

     Grantaire sighed. He really did want a damn _drink_. He already broke sobriety, so what was the point in continuing now? It’s not like him staying sober for the day was suddenly going to fix anything, and he _really_ wasn’t interested in being sober, right now, anyway. He wanted to forget what he was feeling, and he wanted to forget the way Enjolras looked when he came into the bedroom, and how he looked the night before when he found Grantaire in the studio, and he just wanted to _forget_. Just for a little. Just until Enjolras came back and screamed at Grantaire, and then he’d go and get drunk again, and Enjolras would get even madder. Isn't that what Enjolras would want? To be able to put on that stupid smug smile and tell everyone he knew his stupid useless boyfriend could never stay sober?

     Grantaire didn't even know why Enjolras stayed with him, some days. He still thought it was a trick, sometimes, some game for the fun of making Grantaire look like more of an idiot than usual. No one could really care for him that much, especially not _Enjolras_ , all tall and blond and beautiful. But he said he did, and Enjolras didn't _lie_ , did he? He always got upset about how the government was lying, or whatever conspiracy he uncovered that week, so it didn't sound like Enjolras would lie. Obviously he wouldn't. He didn't spare any time lying for Grantaire’s sake. He wasted no time in making sure Grantaire knew just how disappointed he was.

     _God_ , he needed a _drink_.

     And that _would_ be Enjolras’ fault.


	4. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets punched in the jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we come to an end.   
> Hope you enjoyed.

     Enjolras was dragged from his thoughts by the sight of a familiar face approaching him. His eyes focused on the other, _Combeferre_ , and he didn’t like the rage he was met with. He was storming over to him, fists clenched, jaw set, and eyes glaring.

     Enjolras sighed. He’d been sitting alone for a good part of the day, running mostly cheap coffee and sheer anger. The last thing he wanted to see was Combeferre coming at him with the desire for blood clear on his face.

     But there he was.

     He reached Enjolras, and before either had a chance to say anything, Combeferre had Enjolras’ collar in his fist, and he was pulling him from where he sat. And then he punched Enjolras, fist connecting harshly with the other’s jaw. Pain exploded from the source of impact, causing Enjolras to stagger backward, nearly falling back onto the bench behind him.

     “What—” he began, glaring at Combeferre as he put a hand to his jaw, feeling the tender spot.

     “You are an _asshole_ ,” Combeferre cut him off, returning the glare with equal, if not stronger, intensity.

     “So I’ve heard,” Enjolras replied with a sigh.

     “Don't try to blow this off, Enjolras. Do you have any _sense_ in your head, or is it too filled with your fucking _ego_?”

     “I—”

     “You _what_? What more do you possibly have to say? You don't have an ego? You were just doing what you felt was right? Being a complete and total asshole to your already self-loathing boyfriend? What a fucking _saint_. A true moral icon.”

     “He _fucked up_ ,” Enjolras said, jaw clenched and hands curled into fists at his sides.

     “Well I am so sorry we can't all be pillars of virtue like the mighty god Apollo—”

     “Okay, I’ve gotten used to it from Grantaire as some sort of pet name, but everyone else needs to _stop_ calling me that,” Enjolras cut him off, voice exasperated, having repeated those words many times.

     “ _But_ ,” Combeferre continued, seemingly not even hearing Enjolras, “even though you seem to be some kind of god who has never experienced a problem in his life, the rest of us are _human_ , and humans make mistakes.”

     “There’s a thousand things he could have done. It's not my fault he decided to drink.”

     “Look, I'm not really sure you’ve ever experienced a human emotion, but sometimes when people get sad, _really_ sad, they find nothing works except something that’s usually not so great. That's called a _vice_ , since I'm sure the concept is new to you. Now, because I know you, I don't doubt that, beneath all that anger, you feel guilty, but did you ever stop to think _maybe_ he didn't call you because he knew how you’d react?”

     “I wouldn't have yelled at him if he’d called me before he drank.”

     “But he _didn't_. And then he still needed you, but you brought him home, made him think you cared, and then turned on him completely. Don't you feel even the slightest bit ashamed? Because he _does_ , Enjolras. And now, whatever had him upset last night is worse, and that _is_ your fault. So congratulations. Your guilt can have a place to go, now.”

     And go it did. He was sure it was clear enough on his face, but anger stilled bubbled within him. “I—”

     “Save it, asshole. Whatever it is, it's not gonna work on me. In case you haven't figured it out by now, I don't think there's a single person who doesn't have you on their shit list, now.”

     “You know what, Ferre?” Enjolras began, sighing in a huff. “If you just came to yell at me, you can leave. I didn't come out here for you to follow me.”

     “Doesn't really matter what you want anymore, E. If you didn't want me to come after you, you should have gone somewhere else. You're not really hiding here.”

     “I don't _care_ , Combeferre. Just leave me alone, won't you?”

     Combeferre let out an angry bark of a laugh, and Enjolras felt a spike of both anger and frustration. “Oh, no, I can't do that, I haven't told you the best part, yet.”

     Something in his tone—and the tone of the whole fucking _day_ —told Enjolras the best part would be the worst part. He almost couldn't believe it could be worse, but he didn't doubt the world had found a way.

     “ _What_? Christ, Ferre, just get on with it, then,” Enjolras replied, ready to get this damn day _over_ with.

     “Okay, okay,” Combeferre began, and the angry humor in his voice didn't serve to make Enjolras feel any better. “So you know your boyfriend, the one who tended to go out and get drunk when he got really upset, but then didn't, because of you? The one who got his heart broken by you, the reason he didn't drink?”

     “Fuck,” Enjolras sighed angrily, running a hand through his hair. He was starting to figure out what Combeferre was leading to.

     “ _Fuck_ is right, _asshole_ ,” Combeferre replied, humor being overcome by the anger, his voice becoming a low growl as he jabbed Enjolras in the chest with a finger. “Your _boyfriend_ , who _depended_ on you, decided the pain of being betrayed by you was worse than the pain of disappointing everyone. Must be some pain, huh?”

     “Why didn't you stop him?” Enjolras asked, his own voice growing angrier as he pushed away Combeferre’s hand.

     “You're kidding, right? You’ve gotta be kidding. Have you _seen_ Grantaire? Have you happened to notice how _strong_ he is? You know, in all those passionate nights where you made him think you cared about him? What should we have done? Pin him down and tie him to a chair? Actually, no, don't answer that.”

     “So you just _let_ him go out?”

     “We did what we could, but we couldn't _stop_ him. Looks like your puppy eyes are the only ones that work on him. Too bad you were here moping all day.”

     “Where is he?” Enjolras asked through a clenched jaw.

     “Well, you see, that's the _thing_. He went drinking, as I'm sure you’ve figured out, but then a little while later, I got this _call_.”

     Despite his anger, worry was starting to form in the pit of Enjolras’ stomach, weaving its way through the knot of anger that already resided there. “What happened, Combeferre?” he prompted, voice gaining a more anxious edge.

     “Oh, whoa, hey,” Combeferre started, his own anger dropping a notch as he saw the worry on Enjolras’ face, “he's alive, okay? I’ll start with that.” Some of the worry clearly disappeared from the other’s expression. “But he got into a _fight_ , Enjolras. He's _hurt_. It's--it's not serious, lucky for you, but he's at the hospital.”

     Enjolras paled, anger nearly completely forgotten as he turned and stepped in the direction of the hospital, one he wished he didn't know so well. Before he was able to take another step, though, he was stopped by Combeferre’s hand around his wrist. His gaze rested on the other’s hand for a moment before rising to meet his eyes.

     “If you hurt him more,” Combeferre began, voice dark and serious again, “I’m going to kick your ass, and then I’m going to kick you out of the apartment.”

     The word _more_ sent a pang of guilt through Enjolras. This _was_ his fault. Grantaire never would have left if he’d stayed with him. He wouldn't have gotten drunk, he wouldn't have gotten in a fight, and he wouldn't have gotten hurt. Grantaire was _physically_ hurt because of him.

     “Let me go, Combeferre,” Enjolras replied, and the edge of panic in his voice made the other obey. No one liked getting in Enjolras’ way when he got panicky.

     He watched Enjolras walk for a moment before taking his phone from his pocket and sending a text to the others, who were keeping Grantaire company. He figured they would want to get out of there before having to be witness to whatever shitshow was about to happen.

 

     **TEXT: LES AMIS**

          He’s coming.

 

     As he pocketed his phone again, Combeferre sighed.

 

     By the time Enjolras reached the hospital, everyone that had been in Grantaire’s room had dispersed. Some saw Enjolras as he made his way through the halls, but he didn't see them. His anger had almost completely turned to worry, and the guilt that had already been in his heart only grew larger. It fed off of his anger like a parasite, growing stronger as it grew weaker.

     The halls of the hospital had become far too familiar to him. As had the nurses who greeted him, whom he hardly noticed. They knew his name and where to point him to without even a prompt from him. That only managed to increase his anxiety.

     He reached the room, but he paused a moment before entering. Would Grantaire even want to see him? Probably not. But he wanted to see Grantaire. He _needed_ to see Grantaire. He’d never wanted it to go this far. He had never thought Grantaire would get hurt. He didn't know what he would say, but he needed to see Grantaire.

     He opened the door.

     The room was small, featuring little more than a couple of chairs and a bed. He tried not to look at the latter. Instead he looked to the rest. There was a small TV hanging from the ceiling, and a bathroom occupying a small room in the corner. It was blank and dreary; everything was the same shade of antiseptic white.

     Still not looking at Grantaire, his eyes wandered instead to see Cosette sitting in one of the seats, watching him with a glare. He looked away. A moment passed before he stepped fully into the room, letting the door close behind him as he moved quietly to the free seat. Only then did he force himself to look at Grantaire.

     He was awake, eyes looking anywhere but at Enjolras. He looked pale, but aside from a split lip and a forming bruise around one eye, he seemed okay. Obviously there was more, though, or he wouldn't be in the hospital. This was the second time Grantaire had ended up here because of him. The idea made Enjolras’ guilt rise like a sea, threatening to engulf him completely.

     There was silence, and Grantaire took his phone from where it sat on a small table beside his bed.

 

     **TEXT: MY FERRE LADY**

          Um why is Enjolras here??

 

     **TEXT: TAIRE**

          He’s your boyfriend, dude.

 

     That's all Grantaire got as a reply from Combeferre, and he didn't appreciate it. Sure, he was his boyfriend, but he was angry! And rightfully so, in Grantaire’s opinion. But he wasn't _acting_ angry, or, at least, he wasn’t yelling or lecturing. Maybe he would just sit there and brood all day. That sounded like Enjolras.

     Cosette glared at Enjolras, and he did what he could to ignore the gaze he felt burning a hole through the side of his face. He didn't doubt she could glare a hole to the bone, if she wanted.

     A thousand things were going through his head. The events of the morning and previous night replayed again and again, each time filling him with sadness, then anger, then worry. He couldn't say what he felt at that moment, eyes stuck on the sad and hurt man across from him. He had been _happier_. Not very, but they had been working on it. Enjolras had _helped_. And then he didn't. Then he took all he’d given and destroyed it. _Grantaire_ destroyed it. No, Grantaire had cracked the surface, and Enjolras, instead of helping, had willingly smashed it. He was starting to understand that, now. He was starting to see.

     He sighed, after a while. It was the first sound he had made since he entered the room, and it finally made Grantaire’s gaze snap to him. Their eyes met; Grantaire’s…empty, and Enjolras’ an indistinguishable mixture of emotions Grantaire couldn’t name. That was typical of Enjolras, he thought. Too complex for Grantaire. Too good for him.

     “Cosette,” Enjolras began, tone steady, tearing his eyes away from Grantaire to face the girl. Her glare was venomous, but he continued, “would you leave us for a moment?”

     Grantaire’s eyes widened, and he looked at Cosette. If she left, Enjolras would yell, he was sure of it.

     “No,” she replied, voice as harsh as her glare.

     “Please, Cosette,” Enjolras insisted, voice and expression softening. The anger had been subdued for the time being, leaving only the sadness.

     Cosette was not blind. “Fine,” she sighed. She stood, kissing Grantaire’s head before leaving the room. When passing Enjolras, she bent down to press a kiss to his head as well. It confused him greatly, but he wouldn't question it. His jaw still hurt from Combeferre.

     Enjolras watched her leave, but when the door closed behind her, his gaze turned to Grantaire. The other’s eyes were wide, yet sad. It tugged at Enjolras’ heartstrings. He was waiting to be yelled at, and rightfully so. That's what Enjolras did, after all. He yelled and screamed and told people what they did wrong. Grantaire thought, sometimes, that maybe that was why he was with him; so he could always be there to chastise.

     If Enjolras knew that, it would break his heart.

     Enjolras stood, taking a soft breath before moving to the chair closer to the bed, where Cosette had been sitting. Grantaire’s eyes didn't follow him, instead staying set on the spot where Enjolras had been sitting. Enjolras lifted a hand, starting to reach out for Grantaire’s, but he stopped. He imagined that would have to wait.

     “Grantaire,” he began softly, leaning forward slightly.

     “I know,” Grantaire sighed, “I fucked up. Again. I made it worse. Again. I ruined everything. Again. I already know, so you can go. Sorry Ferre made you come here.”

     “He didn't. I came because I wanted to. To apologize.”

     That got Grantaire’s attention. “What?” he asked, head turning to face Enjolras, clearly very genuinely confused.

     “I came to apologize, Grantaire. I was out of line. I was surprised and scared I felt like it was my fault, and I let my disappointment take over so I didn't have to feel like that anymore. I’m _sorry_.”

     “I fucked up. It's not like anyone put a gun to my head,” he looked at Enjolras pointedly. He’d obviously heard what he said to Cosette.

     “ _But_ ,” Enjolras started before he could continue, “something did, didn't it? Something hurt you, and it was either the bottle or the bullet. You did what you could. I see that, now. I may not have been the reason you picked up the bottle the first time, but I was this time. I should have stayed with you, and I should have talked instead of yelling. I’m _sorry_ , Grantaire,” His voice was sad, and he sighed, running a hand over his face, “I don't expect you to forgive me, and I can leave, if you want me to, but I just wanted you to know.”

     A moment passed, and he sighed again as he stood, but before he was able to take a step, a hand was wrapped around his wrist. Enjolras dropped his gaze to see Grantaire looking up at him sadly. “You can stay.”

     Enjolras was still for a moment before nodding and sitting again.  “What happened?” he asked, moving his hand to better hold the other’s. He didn't pull away, and Enjolras was relieved.

     “Fight,” Grantaire answered with a shrug, as though that answered everything. It wasn't a good one, but Enjolras wouldn't push it.

     “Why are you here? You look okay,” Enjolras sighed.

     “Thanks, Apollo,” Grantaire replied with a small smile, but it only lasted a moment before being replaced with a sigh. “There was a…rib problem.”

     “A _rib problem_?” Enjolras asked, eyebrows rising in clear concern.

     “Yeah,” the other shrugged, clearly not sharing the blonde’s worry, “just one, though. I’ll be fine. Probably wouldn't have had to come here if I hadn't been out. I’ll be able to go home today, as long as things look okay.”

     Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he just sighed, squeezing Grantaire’s hand softly.

     “No worries, Apollo. I’ll be sore, but I’ll still be there to tell you what you’re doing wrong. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

     That made Enjolras smile. A real smile, though it was sad. After the stress of the day, even if it was his fault, it was good to know Grantaire planned to remain by his side. He still felt like there would have to be a more serious conversation later, but he could be content for now. He leaned in closer to Grantaire to press a soft kiss to his lips. Grantaire hesitated a moment before raising a hand to rest on the other’s neck. They remained like that for a moment before a change in the steady beeping that filled the room pulled them from the bubble they’d created. The heart monitor had sped up.

     Enjolras pulled away, smiling softly, but it faded soon as he straightened up. “I really am sorry,” he said. He wanted to make sure Grantaire knew.

     “So you’ve said,” replied Grantaire, but the flippant tone displeased Enjolras.

     “I’m serious, Grantaire.”

     “So am I. We both fucked up, and now we’re even, okay?”

     “But—”

     “Isn't being here with me punishment enough?”

     “Grantaire—”

     “Okay, fine, I don't see what you're getting yourself so worked up about, though. You didn't make me do anything. Believe it or not, I am capable of my own choices.”

     “That's not what I meant.” Enjolras was frowning, now, eyebrows drawn together in sadness.

     “Don’t get all puppy eyes with me. That’s the only reason Cosette left, you know. Your puppy eyes could end wars.”

     “I think we’ve known each other long enough that you know I know when you’re avoiding a topic.”

  
     “How _dare_ you accuse me of such a thing?” Grantaire asked, feigning outrage.

     Enjolras huffed a soft exhale. “Fine. I just,” he paused, “I’m sorry for treating you the way I did, and I’m sorry I didn’t stick around to help you, and I’m sorry I’m incapable of compassion, and—”

     “Enjolras,” Grantaire began, adjusting himself to sit up a little more. He could see how much this genuinely upset him, and so he was willing to suck it up and talk to him for a minute. “Listen. Did you hurt me? Yes. But you also got me home and slept with me last night, and before that you sat with me for who knows how long while I cried on you, and you didn’t once complain. I was mad today, and I was hurt, but so were you. We both acted on emotion, and it wasn’t great, and we both ended up getting hit, and you probably don’t trust me anymore, but you’re here now, and you apologized, and I know you’ve been on edge anyway since the thing, and I forgive you. Maybe you’re right, and I should have called you last night, but I thought I could handle it on my own. I obviously couldn’t, and I’m sorry.”

     “It’s okay, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied, voice soft, giving the other’s hand a gentle squeeze, “and I _do_ trust you, I promise. Just remember, next time, that you have a lot people who want to see you feel okay, and even if you don’t talk to me, you can talk to any of them, and they’ll be happy to help you, too.”

     “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll remember. Now, just keep me company until they let me go, okay?”

     “Okay,” Enjolras smiled. This time, it really was a genuine smile. If his punishment was to sit in the hospital with Grantaire, then so be it. He could think of worse ways to be punished. Like being punched in the jaw.

     At that point, either of them could have texted the rest to let them know it was okay to come back.

     Neither did.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on conversation with wandasmaximoffs and samamandriel.  
> Enjolras' name in Cosette's phone was originally two French flag emojis.  
> Sorry for the really lame chapter names.  
> Once I get around to setting it up, I'll be on Tumblr @ enjamras


End file.
